


God, if I Have to Die, You Will Have to Die

by MajorEnglishEsquire



Series: Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fights, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:31:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6689254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorEnglishEsquire/pseuds/MajorEnglishEsquire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He insists until Sam </i>listens.<br/><i>They're going to fix Chuck.</i></p>
<p>
  <i>Dean drags him off to talk to him. Can't make him get in the car and drive around, but they walk around the hotel. Get into a fistfight, evenly-matched and leaving them nothing but worn and sore. And, still, Dean understands.</i>
</p>
<p>*takes place during <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5750023/chapters/14897014">Chapter 9 of We Are Here to Unlearn</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God, if I Have to Die, You Will Have to Die

**Author's Note:**

> This belongs in [this chapter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5750023/chapters/14897014) of [this story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5750023?view_full_work=true) of [this series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/289808).
> 
> You will probably be 100% lost otherwise. Sorry.

On their third circuit around the entire motel property, the clouds move away to let the sun beam down. Dean squints up. It feels warm and friendly and that's a nice change because Sam is a cold stone plodding along next to him.

Sam doesn't want to be told that everything's gonna be alright. He holds the elbow of his right arm with his bruised left hand, stiff straight as they walk.

Sam doesn't want to feel the sun. They pass the cars again and Sam's head swivels to the Impala. The trunk where the tools of the trade sit unused.

Dean's sure he could stand to kill something. He's pretty much _inclined_ to be unhappy in general right now.

They walk out of sight of the cars and Sam turns to face front again. Plodding harder.

"Cas is gonna fix it," Dean says for the millionth fucking time, because it's nothing short of the truth.

The first time Cas had to take a break, he explained everything to Dean back in their room. Chuck's head is bright and hot and it takes some getting used to--

Chuck must be a tough cookie to be handling this mess without going into instant meltdown, is basically what he said.

He isn't gonna die. Cas will heal the wall and Sam will learn to heal the bind.

That's it. That's all there is to it. And if Sam thinks he's gonna _fail_ his _fucking husband_ he hasn't even met himself because the only thing that terrifies Dean, more than Chuck dying and leaving Sam an empty shell of a man, is the idea that Sam would rather have been there, on the spot, and taken that knife to the back himself.

Flat-out, when given the choice, Sam would rather have gone through that pain, had Cas fix him instead of Chuck, than stand by and watch this happen. And that ain't something Dean's heart could have handled.

He can take a lot of abuse. But knowing Sam took another knife to the back?  
Nuh-uh. He would not have done well with that. It's not even worth thinking about.

"It isn't a big deal, alright? I fucking promise it's not. Cas is gonna-"

Sam _pops him one_.

Dean stumbles to a halt, almost tripping sideways over a parking chock and. You know. He's only taken skull hits a _few thousand times_ in his life so he has to blink to find the horizon again.

Turns to Sam.

Sam who is stood back and fists to his side and, like, dead-staring at him like he's disgusting as a crossroads demon.

Utterly unnecessary. But if it will make Sam do something other than think about lying down next to Chuck and eating a bullet. Well.

Dean plays like he has to shake it off for another second, Sam getting all chest-heavy-huffy and ready to shout at him about how he doesn't _have to deal and Fuck You, Dean and--_

Hooks a surprise left and slugs him right back.

It feels good.

He's like, _entirely_ too old for this shit, but it does feel good to be kicking his little brother's ass for the first two minutes.

Then Sam gets scrappy and mean, as he does: a blow to the gut that makes Dean taste his breakfast a little bit. A shove so hard he falls onto his hands and scrapes them to shit, Sam looming and a little too-prepared for Dean's roll out of the way. Snags him, hauls him in just to _shove_ him hard, back, toward the back of the property and almost fucks his shoulder up tossing him against the corner of the cinderblock wall.

Dean takes one more tooth-rattling crack to the face before he decides he won't get concussed over this hissy fit and he comes back to grab Sam's hand out of nowhere, blow to the elbow, fucking his next move up, open hand to the bottom of his jaw, force low enough and Dean accurate enough to get him falling nearly to his ass. Sam scrabbles, flails, trying not to break his tailbone and bounce back up, but takes so long that Dean can hook his neck, get around him and _haul him_ over to throw him against the back bumper of the motel manager's old Volvo.

He needs a breath and, suddenly, to come back swinging looks kinda lost on him.

Instead, Sam looks up to him, only a little shocked, and slides down to the ground. Falls to sit. Pulls his sprawling legs up against his chest and sits there until he's got his air back.

Dean's puffing, too. He turns, cracks his neck, shakes out his arm and rolls his shoulder.

He breathes. In and out deep. Sighs.

Turns and Sam is finally crying.

Burying his face in his hands, skin going red stifling the sounds.

He jams his elbows on his knees and his hair falls in front of his face.

Dean watches him until he sobs out past his own control, loud and wet.

Goes to crouch next to him.  
Put a hand to his neck.

"Sammy-"

"What'm I gonna do?" he sobs, thick-mouthed. "I love him. I _love him_."

"Sam. You're gonna keep on. You're gonna be fine. He'll be fine. And that's not gonna stop. You're still gonna have him tomorrow and the next day. The next goddamn day and the next. In your big house. Getting old and-"

"I love him," he hiccups and hunches in like it's a confession that's gonna kill him. "I donno what to do. I can't do any- I can't- I'm not-" he chokes on the words.

Dean puts his hand wide on Sam's back.

He knows all this. He kind of expected to hear it this way when Sam finally said it the first time. He threw it in Dean's face, instead, in Oregon. Dean was vaguely angry about that. But he sobbed like this on the phone. One day when he woke Dean up to say 'Chuck gave me a ring; I said yes.'

That's what this sounds like.

It sounds like when Dean promised him that he wasn't gonna get his husband killed.

Dean takes a breath, scrubs down his own face and back into his hair. Everything's starting to ache. The adrenaline gone and the cold sinking in past his jacket.

"Come on, buddy." He gets up and Sam lets his feet sprawl again, defeated. Sam barely helps Dean haul him up. He straightens Sam out. Dusts off his coat and pulls it even. Grabs him to shake him once and get his spine clicking together right. "Listen to me, kiddo. You listening?"

Sam rolls his eyes around the whole parking lot and out toward the street before he looks back down and sniffles. Nods. Sniffles.

"I didn't know. For like the first long while I didn't understand. And I probably don't understand now. Only you and Chuck can understand you and Chuck. You're gonna hold on to that and drag him right back to you. You got a job. Cas says you got a job. That you've gotta fix what broke and so you've got a project. You've got this job and you left him in a fucking motel room. Now you go do your job," Dean hits his arm one more time. Shoves him in the right direction. "Go back with Cas, go to him. Go on."

It doesn't make Sam okay. It wouldn't at this point. But he wipes his face off with his sleeve and pulls it together and Dean watches him walk back up. Starts following before he rounds the building so he's got enough time to watch him pull it together and key back into the room.

Yeah. He's not gonna be okay. But you give that kid a job to do, push him off toward the next task and he picks it up eventually. Doesn't let it go. Gets ready to sail his merry ass into hell just to make sure the job gets done right.

Dean shakes a headspin off and goes to key into his own room.

«»

Cas shuts the door quietly behind himself, coming in.

He takes off his jacket and shoes, like he's been taught.

Then comes to where Dean sits in front of the television and takes his face in hand to zap the pain away. That weird strain in his jaw gives one last sickening twist before it disappears entirely.

Castiel sits next to him. Pulls his hand off his thigh to keep, free of the scrapes from the fight, now.

"It's actually getting a little hard to watch."

Dean turns a frown at him.

"Sam," he clarifies.

"Uh, yeah. Don't get me started."

Cas thumbs his hand. "He thinks he's in a dream. Chuck. For now, he's decided he's in an exhaustive dream about having an office job he's underqualified for. He's very prepared to be underqualified for things," Cas frowns at the tv in thought but, for his part, Dean makes perfect sense of that.

"You still think you're right?" he shouldn't bother asking because-

Cas nods. "I'm more sure every hour." He squeezes Dean's hand. "Small, broken, deceptive exterior. I am - genuinely, I _am_ surprised how he holds it together. Almost as if he's used to things... turning to. Um. Shit."

"He lived broke for a good long time. Tell you this much: you live broke for long enough, yeah, you're gonna get used to things turning to shit. Live broke with your damn brains all scarred up and dealing with, like? A serious mental illness all on your own? After the apocalypse? Yeah, I'm sure he's dealing with it. I'm sure he has practice."

"Sam isn't. Even if he is also, technically, practiced."

"Sam isn't," Dean agrees.

"His hand is-" Cas huffs, annoyed.

"Yeah. I noticed."

Sam had to let the dam break for sure. He only let out enough to stop from overflowing, though. Only let out as much as he felt he could.

Dean knows he's storing up the rest. Knows he's preparing for the worst. Knows the hollow-eyed self-destruct pattern before he watches it unfold in real life.

"He'd trust you - I mean. Cas, he _does_ trust you. Objectively he knows you can do this. But I think he'd trust it more if he didn't already watch Chuck die once. Now all he thinks is that we saved him just so he could die slower."

Cas wavers. "That's partly my fault. I admitted to him, quite some time ago, that things don't end well for prophets. Not at an advanced age, certainly, and never cleanly."

Dean is careful about not rolling his eyes. "Wow, babe. That um. That- don't do that. Just. We keep the worst-case-scenarios on the downlow with Sam. We gotta," he motions vaguely, "cushion it a little. He doesn't take that well."

"It was a long time ago. I had no idea he would come to feel that way about- I thought." Cas shrugs. "I thought it was a passing acquaintance."

Jesus. So did they all.

Like. Sam being thrilled that someone ended up alive? Of course.

Sam _marrying_ the dude?

Holy fuck.

Sometimes Dean gets these awful visions in his head of trying to explain some of the absolute whack-a-mole shit they stumble into--  
to Dad.

Like. _Hey, Dad. So. Don't freak out or anything. We can handle this, I swear we can. We handle all sorta hellbeasts and world-enders and that shitty tattoo I couldn't get off, but. See, here's the thing? Sam found this guy we barely know in a diner and. Well, we'd met him before, but. Well, long story short, they got hitched? He might have played host to God or something but Sam's all soft and goo-goo about him. That's not a problem, though, right? With the psychic connection and weird insights and--_

Dean scoots back up the bed and Cas follows him. Dean sits against the headboard but then he has to let Cas frown and rearrange him and come close and smile kissing his head, slow and reverent like usual.

"I can do this. Sam will be alright because I can do this. I promise."

"I know," Dean breathes against his shirt collar.

"He was profoundly sad, but it will get better when Chuck wakes up."

He doesn't have to convince Dean or maybe he knows he has to.

Dean knows, by now, that his vision is widening. Dean knows he's looking down the barrel of _forever_ because the day Cas lets him die without him is the day the sky just falls on the earth, angels and all. He will bring the entire system down.

Dean's learned that and. Maybe he has doubts sometimes, when he suspects that Cas is thinking longingly of home.

But then Cas will turn around and just lament that he left his blue shirt at the bunker. Or want to drive Dean around in his own car for once. Or give some convoluted background on an ancient bar joke just to teach Dean history and make him laugh at the same time.

He's never really walking around secretly holding onto some desire to cozy back up to his quiet fields in heaven. He draws Dean into his life, cracks open his screwball thoughts to show him, and seems to live with the expectation that Dean is just going to have to accept his final resting place in good humor. Neither of them have to like heaven as an institution, they just have to agree they'll make the best of it when they get there.

Cas thinks-- knows. He knows that Dean will end up in heaven with him.

He comes back to the idea so consistently that Dean didn't realize he was building the inevitability of it up in his own mind like a habit. Cas speaks about it out loud in an obvious effort to normalize the idea. And it's working.

Sam doesn't have an _in_ to heaven. He doesn't think he does, anyway.

But there's the royal fuss Dean would kick up and the mess Cas could potentially make in his aid.

Sam thinks he's cursed. Thinks he's demon-blooded and going to hell and-- been there once, so he's simply going back.

There's also. Well.  
Dean turns his eyes on Cas and gives him one long, low, dubious look.

That's when Cas knows he can skim a thought off the top that Dean's too skeptical to even give voice to. The kinda thing you don't even wanna bother thinking but it's stuck there, right behind your eyeballs.

Cas wavers again. "After a fashion," he says.

Because Dean was wondering if Chuck, in all his _prophetness_ and for his services to heaven, will end up going there after he dies.

And if whatever he did, in getting married and bound to Sammy, means that he's just gonna drag Dean's brother up there with him, no matter what heaven or hell may have to say about it.

"That's really a thing," Dean marvels.

"Soul mates are not common. I find the concept distasteful, for the most part. Determinative and presumptive. Manipulation, sometimes, on the part of heaven, even when they are meant more to encounter each other and move on. It still doesn't sit right with me. But." He shrugs. "In this case, they built it themselves." Cas settles in against him. "In that moment? I think in the moment of separation, when Chuck was leaving his earthly body behind, Sam could have let- Well. He could have _left dead what should stay dead_. He could have let go. And there would have been a break. Painful, still, but not as messy as the recovery from this. Then, when he didn't let go, he deepened the bind just as much. Chose it. And kept it. Only it was like having to break Chuck's arm in grabbing it before he fell off a cliff. They will heal and be stronger for it, but the pain is significant right now."

"Yeah just. Just don't _tell him_ that."

"I won't," Cas says casually.

"No, I mean _DON'T_. Do Not." His jaw doesn't hurt but he feels the blow again, anyway. Sam only clobbered him that way because he wanted to be hurt twice as bad in return. He wanted to earn it from Dean like he thought he'd just earned it from Chuck.

For his failure. Or whatever.

But a demon's games aren't Sam's failures. No matter how much he still thinks he could have closed up hell. He still _is not_ responsible for the ones who worm their way out.

Dean would dearly like to know who is. If Crowley expects them to do his dirty work on occasion, wonder he can't keep his fucking people in line. Might need to arrange a chat at knife-point.

Then again? Might not be his people. Might be Abaddon's people. Or old Lucifer loyalists. Or what have you.

His heart clenches and he recalls where the blame really lays right now. On himself.

His poor girls. That douche inhabiting Aiden scrap-heaped a kid just to fail an assassination attempt on a prophet with no actual powers?

Worse- this whole time it could have been that demon puppeteer manipulating Krissy and Josie.

Josie was growing wise to his ways but it seems like Krissy may have blinded herself to them, willfully.

And they skipped out. Left the motel. Won't let Dean try to fix it. Won't let him talk to them to figure out what happened. What led them into trusting Aiden and not coming to Dean or Charlie or even Sam for help when Aiden started behaving weird.

Which he must have.

Every damn twenty minutes Dean's getting his heart twisted up thinking about the million ways it could have gone so much worse. And until Krissy opens her mouth and lets them in on the mess, there are still clear and present possibilities so ugly he isn't sure he should be allowed another moment of peaceful sleep in his damn life. That demon could have- he could have hurt her so fucking badly.

Cas starts _caressing_ him which is not something he deserves and always something Cas does anyway.

He frowns like Dean's thoughts are too annoying to him right now to pretend he doesn't hear.

Now he gets tangled up worse: Cas has to hear this shit. The closer they get, the less he has a choice in it. And the closer they get, the more Dean can feel how poorly the human suit holds in certain waves of feeling from a being who is, in his original form, made up of abstract things like emotions and love.

Getting really fucking hard to deny he can sense that Cas's existence reaches to him with every breath. Takes solace in being close to the little radioactive pulse of Dean's soul.

Getting equally hard to deny to himself that it's still within him. His soul not as corrupted as he ever feared it was. Glowing and alive and present and keeping him human.

He can feel it making Cas more human. He watches, with each passing day, as Castiel's needs align more with his own. Watches him form opinions on things and feel stuff out. Take measure and decide what he wants to spend his time on. Try to make friends without losing too much of his dorkiness (that Dean pretends to be critical of but really loves so _damn_ much).

He feels knocked to the side, surprised again. Like when Sam came at him out of nowhere.

Feels run-over by the knowledge that Cas could have been the one.

If not Sam with another knife in his back, or Krissy flayed open by someone she trusted, or Chuck cracked open and leaking, then Cas.

Cas with his broken, flaking wings thrown out across the mansion floor in a char that--

Yeah, see, he's actually never felt more connected to his brother-in-law in his life. Because suddenly he's scrambling up, trying to sit, breathing hard, wondering why he never asked Chuck what it felt like to have a panic attack.

"Dean," Cas sits up too, and he looks concerned and Dean never would have seen that face again and he wouldn't be so concerned if he knew that Dean just basically almost got him killed. There's no reason why a demon shouldn't have gone for the angel first unless he was working up, from picking off the smallest of them, to the strongest.

He never would have seen Cas's eyes do that again, soften and focus. Never would have felt him grabbing Dean and rearranging his bones so he doesn't hurt himself in the panic. Never would have-

"I love you," Dean rattles, grabs for him.

"I love you, too," Cas answers, because he's been taught the value of that reply, even if sometimes he feels like it's a whole galaxy of inadequate according to his standards.

"Did you mean it?" Dean demands.

"Mean what??" Cas almost visibly tries to locate the thread.

"That you'll end up in heaven. That I'll end up there with you."

"Of course, I-"

"What if you're. What if. What if they. What happens, though, when an angel-"

He can't finish and Cas isn't going to make him.

But he also covers Dean's hands while shaking his head. "It's an unmaking," he eventually admits, in a whisper, his eyes bouncing between Dean's throat and their hands. "No, I have to live to meet you there. If I were killed by an angel blade it would-"

Fuck. He doesn't even want to hear it. He asked, yeah, but fuck the answer. He grabs Cas to kiss him because they end a lot of conversations mid-breath like this. Things that don't actually need answers, just to never be spoken into reality in the first place. Things like fights and arguments and talk about their mortality.

When he has to breathe, Cas lets him fall back, but draws him in to press their heads. Takes his ears in his hands. "That's why I've asked you, Dean. That's why I want you at home with me. Not just for your safety. I must admit it's for our _shared_ safety."

And for that reason, a creature who could fly, once, has dug himself into their hole in the ground and talked endlessly about how it's _their home_ not just something so simple as _home_ anymore. The pronoun is important. Their Home. Their Bunker. Their Space. Their Home.

He's been asking. Asking Dean to slow. To hold back and--

Sam should have slugged him, yeah. They decided they could have houses but because that still seemed like such a _massive_ unreality to Dean, he kept pushing for them to join up on hunts.

But this is the reality: that Sam and Chuck wanted their home and kept humoring Dean. Which made Dean's assurances to Sam moot - it almost got his husband killed. Sam wanted to do this- based _his marriage_ on wanting to ease back and build a house and stay in the game on a lower level, AND on the assurance of Dean's support. He wanted Dean to help him with the house. Wanted them to help keep each other from hunting for the rest of their lives, until they ended bloody.

And instead Dean as good as got Chuck killed.

Doesn't have to have been Chuck, either.

If the kids were ever encouraged to come back to the bunker for training, they would have sussed out what Aiden was carrying before. Some alarm would have gone off inside the bunker or one of the hidden wards in one of the rooms would have captured him.

If Dean had fucking been true to his word, if he had urged the kids home instead of encouraging them to go out before they were entirely ready. _Encouraged them_ by joining in, himself. Because he's a lousy enabler with a bunch of his own shitty habits.

"I fucked up. I fucked up, it could have been- Cas, it could'a been _anyone_."

What if he decided Josie was the easiest target and worked up from there? Brilliant, lightning-fast, big-hearted Josie who still trusted the form the demon came in. Still believed that Aiden was a good guy, at his core.

He almost got his kids killed. Almost got Cas killed. Almost got his brother killed. Did get his newest brother killed.

He told Sam that Cas had been nagging him. But he still wasn't treating it as a wake-up call. He called it nagging like it was just Cas whining or something. That was flippant and-

Those fragile wingbones, burned into the ground. What the fuck. Was that the kind of sign he was waiting for?

Cas has always been a sign to him. Not one of those guiding angels, nothing about Cas can be reduced to anything that simple.

Since they met, Cas has been at every roadblock in his life, smuggling him through to the next checkpoint. That's what he is. Dean's smuggler. He gets him out safe, if not always unscathed. He _helps_. He can be counted on.

"Fucking," he just lets it hang.

"Dean," Cas repeats. "This isn't-"

"It's okay. I got you." He reciprocates Cas's hold on his head. "I got you, now, and holy shit, I got you. I know I have some awful habits and maybe I'm not a cold-turkey kind of motherfucker. But, uh. You gotta take a firmer hand with me, I think."

"Dean. None of this falls on your shoulders. We'll talk to the ladies and figure out what all happened-"

"They didn't come to the bunker. The secrets of the whole fucking unnatural world are locked up in our house and Sam's right about the timing. If they had come by, recently, our house would have protected us and them. But I always answered the call. Always went out and met them. Never forced them to come home-"

"You couldn't have _forced_ them to do anything," Cas objects.

"I could have tried. I could have listened to you and Charlie. Sam's been trying to take care of his people and I decided I'd do the same on my end but I haven't been. You two told me-"

"Stop," Cas requests, calm. "It's not that simple."

Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I think I should let it feel that simple for a while. Just because I'm willing to keep feeding myself into the meat grinder, I am _not_ willing to do that with you. This took Aiden away from us," he tries not to choke out the words.

He wasn't the best person on the planet but.

Dean couldn't help but feel he was gonna be something like a. Maybe not a- maybe not a son but. Dean could have helped him drag his pieces back together. Could have seen what kind of a man he grew up to be.

Krissy loved him and that was enough at the time. But now they don't get to see any further.

Worse than that is realizing that Cas could have been taken away from him and how the thought proves what an awful parent he'd make. Just the _idea_ of it hurts more than Aiden's death is _actually_ hurting and he feels like such a shit for that.

So, yeah. Maybe he's not cut out for this. Maybe he can't be a father to these kids, much as something inside of him is screaming to be.

But, goddammnit. He should want, more than anything, to at least _do right by them_.

Anyone could have died. Everyone could have been separated and picked off.

It could have ended, Dean and Sam with their combined rage, finding their family dead and hunting that demon down and obliterating it. And the two of them back in the car on a bloody road that doesn't end. Can't end anyplace other than the hell they'd feel like they belonged in.

He loves that car. He loves the highways he flies down everyday.

He does not love them more than these people.

And that's where the next roadblock is. Cas has been waiting here for him.

"When we get home, I'm gonna move us downstairs," he says in a daze. "On the next level down, there's that room that we found all the old cigars in, and the scrolls."

Cas nods. "It's bigger than our room. It's very comfortable."

Dean's gonna dig in. The dorm wing will be for their family and for visitors. But downstairs will be for them. He's gonna pick that bow back up and practice with Claire every damn week. Gonna give Cas a huge room and a bigger bed and tell him to fill the closest with his ridiculous sensible clothes.

He has his own roots to tend to. It's not a bind but it's what Cas wants with him and he will take whatever he can get after he broke this. He has to follow Cas to heaven someday. Cas is counting on it. He'll head to the sandbox and take whatever nastiness the other angels throw at him just to meet Dean when he crosses over.

The surety that he's never going to fuck this up again helps him make the right decision when Sam and Chuck draw him over, days later. When they tell him their plan to give Cas his wings back.

Cas wouldn't have slogged Dean's ignorant ass this far just to up and leave him. Granted, his first assumption will maybe always be to think that he isn't worth sticking around for. And he will feel his unworthiness deeply when Cas tries to reject the help by pinning it on his perceived objections. But Cas is just trying to promise that he'll stick around. He's just trying to stick around for Dean. Trying to prove that he doesn't need his wings back if it will even make Dean _wonder_ if he's gonna leave someday.

Castiel gets up from his seat all clumsy and comes to stand in front of Dean, stiff-backed, in a way Dean has come to identify as "not sure what he's doing but totally rolling with it."

It hurts at first. Digs at an old wound. A rejection that was never meant to sting but still kind of did? And then.

What the fuck is he fucking saying.

Everyone in the room claps and laughs at them as Dean hauls him outside.

He drags Cas back to their room and they won't know it, but the first ten minutes of slamming they hear through the wall is Dean pressing him against the rattling door and kissing him. Grabbing his hands up and pressing them above him as he pins him in place and just.

Keeps him.


End file.
